BROKEN LINES, a LEVIATHAN FANFICTION
by hyaloid fiction
Summary: AU, post-Goliath, non-abdication.   "I owe it to my country. They need a peaceful leader," he said, his words slow and thick as he placed the scroll next to his heart. Alek hoped Deryn could understand. "I owe it to my father."
1. CHAPTER 0

1I do not own the Levithan triology, Scott Westerfeld does. I am making no money from this, it is written for my own amusement.

This disclaimer applies to all other chapters.

BROKEN LINES, a LEVIATHAN FANFICTION

**1914 (ONBOARD THE LEVIATHAN, SOMEWHERE OVER NEW YORK CITY.)**

_ He pulled something from his pocket, and as Deryn saw it, her heart sank. It was the leather scroll case, the one with the pope's letter inside. She'd forgotten for a single, absurd moment that Alek was an emperor-in-waiting and that she was as common as dirt._

_ "Tricky," Bovril said._

_ "Of course." Deryn dropped her gaze, stepping back from his embrace. "No one's going to write me a letter to turn me royal, are they? And I'd hardly make a proper princess, even if the pope himself sewed me a dress. This is all ridiculous."_

(goliath, p531-532)

Alek stared at the scroll case. There were, in that moment, so many branching futures. Part of him wanting to fling the scroll case clear over the ship and into the Atlantic.

And part of him knew that was foolish. He had a duty to his people, to his country. How could he give that up to be with her, no matter how much he wanted to?

He could still be with her- and his heart seized on the chance, even as his brain said no, think of the strife and civil war it could cause.

"I owe it to my country. They need a peaceful leader," he said, his words slow and thick as he placed the scroll next to his heart. Alek hoped Deryn could understand. "I owe it to my father."

He realized his mistake rather quickly, how Deryn could have interpreted his statement.

Bovril spoke up then, right out of the blue.

"Emperors are vain and useless things."

Deryn's eyes grew wide from the combination of what had been said. She was confused, hurt- but Alek was her friend, and something more (the last few minutes hadn't been nothing, right?).

"Bovril!" She placed her hand over the beast's mouth, waiting for Alek's reaction.

"... I am sorry. Deryn, I-" Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg, for all his formal training, could not find the right words.

But somehow, in those few moments, something had been lost forever.


	2. I

1**I**

**1921, VIENNA (HOFBURG PALACE)**

Boy Emperor, that's what the press had taken to calling him. Alek supposed it was easier than listing all of his titles, and it had somewhat of a ring to it, though Alek didn't personally favor it.

At the moment, though, he needed to cater to the press, so that particular topic wouldn't be mentioned right now

His entourage was arranged around him in a semi-circle, with those he most favored (or owed favors to) closest to the sides. Volger was, as usual, behind him and to his right.

Hands folded on the desk in front of him, his field marshal's uniform just a bit uncomfortable, Alek felt Volger's eyes on him as he began to answer the questions.

"The law that was passed earlier today regarding the division of the Empire into smaller, self-governed states, does not mean that Austria-Hungary's might has been reduced.

No, nothing of the sort. These 'states' may make their own laws according to their cultural heritage and personal preferences, but these laws will be reviewed by governors of each specific state, and then, if a discrepancy is found, reviewed by myself.

This is all done with Austria-Hungary's future in mind, with the idea of modernizing our country."

Alek allowed his gaze to sweep the room, meeting the eyes of each and every reporter, foreign or not, noble, and assorted servant that populated this room. There was iron in his voice, and he had the talent of talking and being noticed. His eyes dared them to speak out, to question the country that he had devoted himself to protecting, to nurturing. He was quite good at showing his strength and meaning through these simple gestures.

Alek had been doing this for six years, after all. The 'Boy Emperor' had been given plenty of practice.

Pausing for a breath, he then continued.

"If there are any questions, Herr Volger will be more than pleased to direct each reporter to the correct department."

Before the first blinding wave of camera had caught him, Alek stood, nodded to Volger, and left through the door to the right of his desk.

The door shut with a satisfying thud, and Alek's hands went immediately to his neck, loosening the decoration there. The sash was simply removed and placed upon the nearest chair. Running his hands through his hair to loosen it up a bit, he paced around the room for a few moments, reviewing the latest interview in his head. It was true, what he had said about Austria-Hungary still being strong. They had the latest Walkers, the best engines, good relations with the surrounding countries, and very good relations with Britain and America. Alek had needed a few years after the question of succession and the death of Franz Joseph I settled to begin rebuilding his empire and keep the citizens safe and happy.

But Austria-Hungary wouldn't remain strong at the current rate. Empires ran on taking smaller countries or new territories acquired by war and sucking them dry. But if Alek had learned anything from his time on the Leviathan, it was that the common people had a voice and strength, and that honor would only keep certain guards in service.

Just look at what had happened to the Czar. A puppet ruler due to a revolution that killed his oldest son and left his wife and children prisoners to be used against him if he passed a law they didn't like!

All the fighting bears didn't protect him from the mass of people that disagreed, and thus he had lost his power and his honor.

Alek had no intention for his empire to end like that, with the citizens oppressed by a new ruler after a long, costly revolution. The title he had fought so hard for would not be lost.

And thus, certain changes had to be made. Like giving the people of Austria-Hungary's minorities more rights- within their own zones. Otherwise, Alek would end up dead or a manipulated nothing.

Boy Emperors were nothing if not jaded.

**LONDON, ENGLAND (LONDON ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY, LONDON HEADQUARTERS)**

Dr. Nora Darwin Barlow's assistant. Dr. Barlow's valet, servant, cook, organizer, everything under the sun and more, that's what Deryn had become. She accepted the titles without shame, being that she really did none of these things. Deryn just found other people to do them for her, making sure Dr. Barlow had absolutely _nothing _to worry about as she ran about London and the world fabricating creatures, making speeches, and manipulating politics on the behalf of the Zoological Society.

Shifting her weight, Deryn still kept her posture at attention, similar to the pose she used when reporting in the Air Service. Dr. Barlow would be wanting to leave the meeting quickly once it finished, and then Deryn would need to accompany her to the next engagement.

At the change in posture, Bovril let out a muted sigh, mumbling something under its breath. The perspicacious loris had ended up with Deryn after the adventure, despite her attempts otherwise. In the past few years, it had grown smarter and more perspicacious, speaking in complete sentences, and making sense nearly constantly. Barlow's (equally intelligent) loris was at home after suffering a bout of a cold or some such loris sickness. In Deryn's opinion, one was _more_ than enough, especially at public events.

She was wakened from her nostalgia by one of the doctors from the society coming over to speak with her. She unconsciously adjusted her posture, and waited for the man to offer his hand before she extended her own and shook his.

"The esteemed Dr. Barlow's assistant! Congratulations on your new title, Doctor, ah-"

"Dylan Sharp, sir," she interjected gently.

"Ah, Doctor Sharp! Well, congratulations! Dr. Barlow says to expect great things from you, very great things!" As if to prove his point, he shook his finger at her, jowls shaking along.

Deryn nodded in modest acknowledgment. This man must have been the seventh or eighth tonight, most likely coming over here to try and gain favor from Barlow by praising her young student, hoping said student would be so _honored_ by this attention to do as they wished.

"If you'll excuse me, boy, I must be going. My colleagues have just arrived-"

And with that, the man, like so many others, departed without a word. The Society was like anything with power. There was always someone bigger and better to meet and replace in the hierarchy.

"Aye, beastie, isn't it so?"

Reaching over to her shoulder, Deryn gave Bovril a little scratch under its chin. Bovril sighed again, leaning into Deryn. Focusing back on the little scenes beyond her place by the corner, Deryn located Dr. Barlow purely by sound. The lady boffin's group was always the loudest and largest, with Barlow commanding the conversation and attention. Deryn had learned a few public speaking tricks from her, and used them quite often. This next move would be one of them.

She pulled a pocketwatch out (Clanker design, a subtle tribute to_ that boy_ who she didn't think about that often), and strode over to the posse surrounding her teacher, easily finding a way in through the mostly corpulent or freakishly thin bodies that all of the boffins seemed to have. She had no particular image in mind for the large ones, though the thin ones always brought Tesla to mind, an image which she tended to dismiss rather quickly.

"Dr. Barlow, ma'am, you have another meeting in a few moments."

Her voice carried clearly, without being loud. It got the attention of the lady boffin, which was all it needed to.

"Gentleman, excuse me," she flashed a smile at the surrounded men. "This assistant, I do not know why I keep him. He's always rushing me away from nice company. But he knows too much, so what should I do?"

Tittering laughter followed, and various suggestions were made, some of which made Deryn flinch internally. Outside, the simple image she portrayed to the outside world had no change. She let the conversation wash over her and away, waiting for Barlow to extract herself from the group so they could move on.

It took a few moments for the proper goodbyes to be made, and Deryn made a show of appearing to wait impatiently. Once out of the room, the pair hurried out of the building, hailing a cart (drawn by a beastie that even Deryn couldn't name) and giving the address.

"Well?" Dr. Barlow turned expectantly to Deryn, laying back in the seat.

Deryn placed her hands on her knees and began to speak, keeping her voice even and monotonous as she told Barlow what she had overheard that night. The information that a quiet 'nothing' such as Deryn might overhear was enormous. Tonight's consisted mainly of confirmations of petty rivalries and continued experimentations that were really just other boffin's works under a different name. Bovril jumped in and contributed at various points.

This reporting of bits of gossip overheard was normal for Deryn. Dr. Barlow was usually able to glean bits and pieces of important information from what Deryn heard. They were out of Britian for long stretches at a time, and political elements shifted like Teutonic plates, grinding along subtly and then quickly with a loud noise. However, like the natural events, quakes in politics could be predicted if one knew what to look for. The lady boffin_ liked_ (for whatever barking reason) to be around when the shifts occurred or right after.

For example, a few months ago something important had been going on within the royal family, but everything had settled down (or been hushed), which had disappointed Dr. Barlow.

Deryn could have cared less about royalty.

Meanwhile, the beastie pulling the cab had been called to a stop, and Deryn stepped off before Dr. Barlow, offering the doctor her arm so that she could step down like a lady. Deryn scoffed slightly at the thought, and Bovril mimicked her. Barlow shot her a look, and Deryn shrugged it off, not offering an explanation.

While Dr. Barlow walked up to the townhouse they shared (Deryn sleeping on the bottom floor, with the servant's quarters between them for decency's sake) Deryn paid the driver and hurried up the steps. Once inside the door, Deryn quickly shrugged off her coat and hat, placing them on the coatrack by the door.

"Tea in an hour!" came Dr. Barlow's shout from somewhere upstairs.

"Aye!" Deryn yelled back, already clomping down the stairs to her room.

The door was shut-and-locked behind her, and Deryn sighed with relief. As Dr. Barlow intended, a whole hour gave her a chance to take a hot soak and redo her bindings.

Bovril hopped off her shoulder after the door closed, scampering off to do Bovril-things. Quickly, she removed her shirt, the undershirt, and the layer of wrapped cloth that gave the illusion of the lack of hips. The pants were next, but Deryn stopped, walking through her windowless basement quarters to the bathroom. She had four rooms to herself, nearly half of the basement. There was a separate room where the boiler was stored with a separate staircase leading to it, just in case. The result of the locked door, separated rooms, and various other little tricks was that Deryn had complete privacy, and thus her secret was safe for another day.

She turned the hot water on high, appreciating just how quickly and efficiently the various living systems in the house heated the water. The tub filled while Deryn stripped off her shoes, socks, and pants. She sat on the floor beside the tub, rubbing her aching feet and rolling her neck to get some of the knots out. Finally, it was time to start on the bindings on her chest.

A year or so after she had left the crew of the _Leviathan_, her monthlies had started, and then her chest had started to grow _again_. Dr. Barlow had been more impressed with them than horrified at having more to hide, which had been Deryn's chief concern. After making Deryn parade around (behind closed doors) in dresses for a good hour, she had sighed, shook her head, and said there was nothing to be done about Deryn's new 'endowments', besides just binding more tightly. The lady boffin had been able to cook something up for the monthlies (and the cramping that came with them). It was a blend of the hormones that gave Deryn these problems in the first place, yet it stopped them. Deryn didn't question the pills, just took them every morning. After everything had been fixed, Dr. Barlow had taken Deryn aside, and given her the 'facts of biology' talk. Deryn had blushed- the last times, the talk had been given by her older brothers, and then the teachers at school. Her brothers had given her slang terms for almost everything, and her teachers had given her a scientific explanation of what everything did. What Dr. Barlow spoke about was feelings and emotions, how partners should treat one another, and what consequences were. She had mentioned that the pills that Deryn had been given would lower the chances of pregnancy significantly, but wouldn't stop any transmitted diseases.

And for a moment, they both pretended this was all relevant to Deryn. That she would have lovers and suitors and a husband and children. It wasn't something she had really considered until that moment. She couldn't quite expect to have a family with a woman, either.

It had hurt so much at first. Deryn hadn't expected it to, but it did. There were dreams she had to let go of because of her choices to attain others, and this was just one.

Eventually, it stopped bothering her. She had other goals.

The topmost layer of binding was the tightest, and when it was finally off Deryn sighed deeply in relief. The ribbons of cotton unwrapped quickly once that first layer was off, and the swell of her chest started to appear slowly.

The cotton strips were placed beside the tub, and with that last layer removed, Deryn stepped into the tub and quickly sank into the water. As a second though, she drained off some of the water, and re-ran it with a bit of soap in the water. Bubbles quickly covered the service of the water, and Deryn again shut the water off and leaned back in the tub, sighs of delight overtaking her.

Oddly enough, the water sounded as if it was still running.

Opening one eye, Deryn gazed around the room. Over in the corner, Bovril sat with it's mouth open, trying desperately not to look at Deryn and failing horribly. It broke down into laughter when it saw Deryn's stern face, who also quickly fell to laughter.

"Come here, beastie."

The loris raced across the room, jumping into the tub where it sat on Deryn's stomach. She stroked its fur while she lay back a bit further and stared off into space and thought.

An hour passed quickly, and she hadn't noticed. Deryn quickly rebound herself and dressed into less formal clothes. She was going to be a little late to tea, and Dr. Barlow had been hinting that there was something important to be discussed. She raced up the stairs, Bovril downstairs napping, and nearly burst into the tea room, almost falling on the floor.

A strange sight greeted her.

The lady boffin was there, sitting in her usual chair, cup halfway to her face as she read a letter. The envelope was on the table, wax seal broken. As Deryn walked closer, the details on the seal became clearer.

A two-headed mechanical eagle.

Deryn's eyes widened, and Dr. Barlow stood, placing her cup down on the saucer without a clink. Her face was unreadable, yet her voice was restrained and slightly angry.

"It seems that Austria-Hungary has requested that a boffin visit to promote friendly relations between our countries. It also seems that the Society has decreed that I am to be that boffin."

Deryn's world spun for a moment, and then quickly settled. She met Dr. Barlow's evenly, with steel in her voice.

"I'm coming with you."

For once, Dr. Barlow didn't say anything in response.


	3. II

1**II**

**VIENNA (HOFBURG, 1921 PALACE) OCTOBER 15****th**, **1921**

"Keep your tip up, Alek."

Volger's stern voice echoed through the salle, loud and commanding as always. To him, being occupied with an empire was no reason to fall behind in fencing.

"Alek! We drop practice for two weeks, and you fall this behind in the sabre? Tomorrow, we bring out the foil!"

It was all play and banter, though. Count Volger understood just how much responsibility 'please-continue-to-call-me-Alek' was under. The fencing classes gave the boy a chance to ignore reality and pretend he was, once again, the student and not the master. Outside of the salle, Alek was Volger's _complete_ superior and deserving of Volger's unquestioning obedience. Inside the salle, he had even begun to land a few hits on his teacher, but Volger wouldn't admit to it beyond a pleased nod.

But today, Alek was distracted. His parries and blocks were sloppy, and he never followed them with lunges. He was entirely on the defensive, and not even trying. Volger simply couldn't allow this. The next loose block was followed by a firm flip from Volger's sabre. As Alek adjusted his wrist to block yet another lunge, Volger forced him back and put force into knocking the side of his sword into Alek's. It would have been illegal in a match, and it was unthinkable for one of the great Austrian fencing masters to even preform a move like this, but it had the desired effect on the boy, causing him to drop his sword and fall backward.

A look of pure shock came over the boy's face, followed by a deep blush. Volger said nothing, simply went over to the fallen sabre, picked it up, and offered Alek a hand. Alek didn't meet his eyes, but did accept the help, brushing himself off before taking the sword back. Turning his back, Volger walked back over to his end of the mat. He assumed the starting pose, and waited for Alek to do the same. Volger gave the salute, which Alek quickly returned, eyes still on the ground.

"Begin."

Volger's voice rang out clearly, and the match began. Alek was faster and actually thinking this time, he noted with approval. The bout was fierce, each man scoring at least two touches. Volger ended it by stepping off the mat twenty minutes in. The boy had given him quite a workout.

As he began to remove the protective gear, Volger realized he hadn't heard Alek's footsteps. Glancing up, he noticed Alek was still on the mat, helmet off, just staring at the ground.

"Alek."

Volger wasn't one to ask after feelings and such things. He could still recognize when another man was struggling with a decision, and knowing that, could decide how to react to it. With the recent change in policy, a decent amount of stress should have been lifted off his shoulders, yet the boy still seemed bogged down.

"I have requested that a British ... doctor visit. Our foreign policy is still shaky, and if we can offer a peaceful exchange of ideas, the next few years should be easier to endear us with the British citizens. I have made a similar offer to Russia..."

Volger nodded, following the boy's point quite easily.

"The event I have_ tried _to-" Alek paused, looked down at his sword hand, looked at Volger, and smiled sadly. The tension on his face vanished. "It's such a little matter, and then such a large one."

Volger nodded, watching as Alek replaced his gear on the shelves and benches in the room.

"There's no point in avoiding it, really," he continues, taking a foil from the shelves and flexing it to test the curve. "It was fairly inevitable."

With that, it's clear to Volger that he had concluded with his musings, and that he expects no more comments.

"I will see you at dinner." And there, Volger will sit at Alek's right, as always. The boy walks out of the large doors at the end of the room, guards saluting him as he goes. The emperor gives each of them a nod as he heads back to his wing for a bath and then the next round of meetings.

How can his subjects not love him? Volger wonders. He treats each man as an equal, and every woman as a lady. Alek, still a child, rising to the occasion of being a father to an entire country.

Count Volger goes through the rest of the day without much incident. There are papers to be filed, appointments to keep, and a few more fencing lessons with the children of various nobles. Dinner wasn'the event it tends to be on days where diplomats and dignitaries visit. A simple affair, with small talk, with Alek asking after the families of those with him. Plans for a new Stormwalker and a sturdy machine based on rolling feet are mentioned. Nothing out of the ordinary, in other words.

It's only after dinner that Volger bothers to enquire about the British boffin's visit. It takes a few moments for the paperwork to be found. It looks as if the Zoological Society has offered up a candidate, and the Foreign Ministry has approved the choice. One Dr. Nora Barlow, and her assistant, a Dr. Dylan Sharp. Volger can't help but chuckle at the choice, doubting the randomness of this arrangement. Volger pauses a moment to wonder if Alek's been notified at the choice, and assumed it must be so. Even if that's _not_ the case, it really won't hurt him to be surprised at seeing his old 'ally'.

**LONDON, ENGLAND. (DR. NORA DARWIN BARLOW'S TOWNHOUSE.)**

What does one pack when going on a barking 'diplomatic mission' to your ex-best-friend/ally's barking empire?

Deryn had been through her closet about eight times by now, sorting through all of her clothes, picking this and that before throwing it back on the floor. Bovril delighted in the mess, burrowing through the piles of dress shirts, suspenders, and trousers.

Deryn frowned. She had told Barlow that she was done with 'diplomatic missions', seeing how the last one had gone. Yet the boffin had insisted. As Deryn refolded a dress shirt, she wondered what could have made the boffin so touchy as of late. Let's see, had a fabrication died before it was scheduled to? Tazza was getting older, that could be it. But Barlow could always fabricate another thylacine before Tazza died, get it accustomed to her life, make Deryn walk it at all hours. She glanced at the calender over her bed, giving it a quick glance-over. October, October- it was the fifteenth today, right?

Oh. That was it.

It must have been around eight years ago. It had happened before Deryn had met her, but Dr. Barlow's husband had died sometime around the middle of October 1913. They hadn't had any children, nor had they been married very long, but Dr. Barlow was always a bit off around this time every year, a little weepy (in private) and unable to get any work done.

And here they were sending her off to Austria-Hungary.

Deryn slammed the lid of her suitcase down, now stuffed to the brim with clothing and papers. Barking dummk- _idiots_, the lot of them!

There was a knock on the door.

"Dylan?" It was Barlow, of course, and Deryn jumped over a few mounds of clothes and a suspender-wearing Bovril to unlock the door.

"Coming!" called Bovril, in perfect imitation of Deryn, who promptly shot it a glare, sticking her tongue out. Bovril just giggled.

Deryn pulled the door open, looking at Barlow who stood with her hands on her hips. "Aye?"

Dr. Barlow gave the room a good long look, and gathered her skirts to step over the mess. She sat on the bed, legs crossed. Deryn closed the door, sticking her hands in her back pockets as she picked her way over towards Barlow.

"It seems, Deryn, that we need to discuss some things before we leave tomorrow."

Deryn braced herself for 'the' talk again. They had spoke about the events following the almost-firing of Goliath just twice, the first time a month after Deryn had begun to work for Barlow, the second after _he_ had been crowned (and they hadn't been invited, of course. Deryn had seen it on a newsreel in a theater, nearly two months later, for fuck's sake), and now it seemed, a third time, before she saw him for the first time in _six years_.

"They will be going through our luggage. You will not be able to bring the pills for your monthlies, nor will you be able to bring more binding supplies than you can keep on your person, plus a small amount in my purse, of course. The reason for the binding is obvious. The pills would be considered illegal in Austria-Hungary if seized, due to their ... pregnancy prevention. "

Oh. That had been... unexpected. It seemed they wouldn't be discussing it again. That was fine with Deryn.

Dr. Barlow stood to leave, dusting off her skirts.

"Our ride leaves at 0900 tomorrow. Be ready a half-hour before then."

With a final look around the room, and a glance to the dressed loris, she dusted off her skirts, stood, and departed.

Once the door was closed again, Deryn sighed and fell back on the bed, head flopping on the pillows.

It was downright unhealthy for someone to have to go through all of this.


	4. III

**NOTE:** this is the last slow, easy chapter. everything has been organized nicely and the plot will be ... plotty in the next chapter. get ready for the ride!

as the next chapter is going to be MUCH longer, expect a few days delay before it is finished.

* * *

><p><strong>III<strong>

**ONBOARD A CIVILIAN AIRSHIP (SOMEWHERE OVER SWITZERLAND) OCTOBER 21****st**

This was third time tonight that some dammed ex-middie had tried to tell her how to behave on a barking airship. Her. 'Deryn Sharp', decorated officer on the Leviathan, boffin, successful fabricator of eight species, was being told how to conduct herself on an airship! She wondered why the boy was here, all five feet of rashy skin and awkward limbs of him, instead of in the Air Service. Deryn didn't really bother with considering it, though she allowed herself a snicker when, while escorting her back inside, the boy had tripped over a piece of rigging.

Now, back inside, she watched as he met up with another boy, who he quickly raced off with, pushing and shoving along the hallway together, grins splitting their faces.

Her hands clenched for _just a moment _, and she pressed her forehead to the glass window of the observatory cabin. This is not what she wanted, nor will she ever be fully satisfied with this life. Nothing says she can't close off her mind and fantasize, once in a while, if that boy had given up an empire for her, a common girl.

And then the memories she's fought so hard against come back, layering on top of each other like cards in a deck. She shut them down quickly, once the images of_ them _came up. Barking spiders, it hurt.

And in that moment, Deryn resolved to enjoy this trip, at the very least the airborne bits, and deal with _him_ when they arrive in Austria-Hungary and not a moment before.

He will not take her heart and break it again. She doubts he even intended to, the first time around. She wonders what he thinks, if he thinks about her at all.

**VIENNA, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY (HOFBURG PALACE) OCTOBER 23****rd**

Pomp and ceremony is very, very nice. It prevents people needing to think. All one needs to do is follow a template set up by years and years of tradition to the letter, and everyone's happy.

There were rules for the first formal receiving of a representative of another country. Alek was glad there were, he'd been up more than half the night for the past week, speaking with the Bolshevik representative. His advisers had saved him, accompanied by Volger, insisting that he needed his sleep. The Russian had just scoffed, mumbling something about lazy emperors. Alek had chosen to ignore the comment, and had been escorted out of the room by Volger.

The Russians had no respect for royalty, of course, but the alliance was essential, if not now, then of course when the last few members of the Tzar's family were killed (and they would be, that was clear, it was just a question of when, really) and Russia crumbled while a new government struggled to reform itself. And perhaps they would take kindly to former allies, and perhaps they would not. But they would be too weak to do anything about it for a few years, and by then Austria-Hungary would be strong enough to counter anything.

It was all just a matter of diplomacy and counter-diplomacy.

That being said, Alek was _almost_ (but not quite) eagerly looking forward to his meeting with the British representatives. The Embassy had told him that he would be receiving a boffin and their assistant, and that both of them were able to speak German easily. Two creatures would be coming with them, and Alek had easily made arrangements for both of his guests to have accommodations for their creatures.

He liked the British. Alek's first order as Emperor had been to bring Austria-Hungary out of the war. His second had been a treaty with Britain, to 'forge bonds of peace, as is Our sincerest wish'. Sometimes he didn't wonder if his fierce wish to stay so connected with Britain is because of Deryn. They had been pulled apart so quickly after New York, scarcely ten days after he had decided to pursue his birthright. Alek prided himself on having few regrets, but not having more time with Deryn was one of them.

Yet, she had made no move to contact him. As the years had passed, he had sadly come to the realization that she really must have wanted nothing to do with him. Dr. Barlow and Count Volger had occasionally exchanged letters, but Deryn was not mentioned in any of their correspondence. After two years, he had given up, accepted it, and turned his mind away from her and her brilliant mind and wit, and back to his Empire's success, as it should be.

Alek had received word that the representative boffin had arrived the past night, and requested a meeting the following morning. Said meeting was scheduled to begin in two minutes in his personal office.

His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty Aleksandar sat in his chair with ease. Dressed in civilian formal clothes, he still made an impression with the picture of his father behind him, a smaller portrait of his mother on his desk, and the Austria-Hungarian crest rendered in large glory on the front. The whole message was one of semi-informality, yet it conveyed obligatory respect. Just right for meeting an ambassador.

His train of thought was broken by Volger opening the large doors, entering and followed by two guards who took up their positions on either side of the door. Alek noted he looked a little flustered, but brushed it off as a slight conflict with the Bolshevik again. The wildcount took up the duty of announcing his visitors who were a few steps behind him in the shadowy hall.

"May I present the representatives of the British Empire, Dr. Nora Darwin Barlow, and her assistant, Mr. Dylan MacGregor Sharp."

The lady boffin swept into the hall with the grace and dignity Alek remembered, a greying Tazza at her side. She offered the curtsey due Alek, which he received with a nod, and stepped aside to let her assistant come into view.

And then Deryn walked in, head held high, Bovril on her shoulder. Alek felt his breath catch for just a second- she was still so _beautiful_, even dressed like that. And a doctor, too! They had so much to catch up on.

Yet something in her eyes was cold and unreadable, and those eyes stayed on him as she bowed and stepped back.

The room was dead silent for a moment.

"Reunification," Bovril said, and giggled.


	5. IV

1

i wrote the ... first part of chapter while listening to Judas by Lady Gaga. mmm, choreography. the second part with shake it off by florence and the machine. let's not talk about the third part.

broken up into two parts so i could get it out before vacation.

**IV**

Somehow, she pulled herself through that doorway and into his office. Fucker had the most beatific little_ smile_ on his face. She executed a perfect little bow, keeping her eyes trained on his face so that he couldn't look away. Bovril clung to her in a way only a loris can, and she ignored the little pinches from his paws as he held on.

Part of her was tempted to put that little feminine swish in her step that Barlow had taught her as she walked over to the side, and perhaps she would have, if Barlow and Volger weren't here. Most likely, Barlow would notice it and perhaps even wonder if Deryn was responsible enough to have been brought along. Volger would certainly comment on it, in private, assuming _he_ hadn't changed. And Deryn would wage her right hand on that man's stubbornness still existing.

Alek, that stupid grin still on his face, waved off the guards, and indicated to Volger to close the doors. Once the office was nice and secure, he stood up from his desk, walking quickly over to Barlow and Deryn.

"Welcome It's so good to see you-"

Deryn kept her eyes on the portrait just above Alek. It must be his father, she decided absentmindedly, as Alek's words flowed past her and away.

Suddenly, Barlow said her name. She snapped back and smiled pleasantly at the others. Barlow knows enough about her that she assumes that Deryn was daydreaming.

"The Count and I were just discussing the possibility of introducing some fabrications to the Imperial Zoo."

Count Volger nodded, his amusement over Deryn being caught unawares very much present on his face.

"I offered to escort the lady, _Mr. _Sharp, so that you and ... Aleksandar would have time to catch up."

Deryn bit her lip as she tried to come up with a suitable excuse _not_ to be left alone with Alek. She couldn't really find one that didn't sound silly, absurd, or strange. And by that time, Volger (who moved very fast for an old man) and Barlow had left, door closed behind them.

Shit.

Alek walked towards her, and Deryn held her ground as he reached out his arms, still smiling that content smile. He was too damn close for her comfort, and she leaned back nervously. His hand brushed her cheek and–

* * *

><p>- Alek took Bovril with a smile, holding the loris against his chest as he stroked its forehead.<p>

"Guten tag Bovril."

Bovril wriggled around in Alek's arms, content.

"His Highness," it spoke, in an almost perfect imitation of Volger.

He heard a slight choking sound from in front of him, but didn't bother look up, being much too occupied with the loris.

"Dylan, it's good to see you aga-"

He felt the sharp sting of a slap, and nearly dropped Bovril with fright. His first thought was that if any of the guards had seen, they would fall on Deryn in an instant. And then she spoke again, and he simply had to listen, because if she's doing something like this, it must be important.

"Don't call me that, you know my name. And six years- d'you know how _bloody_ long six years is? How worried I was, you _dummkopf_-"

Deryn's voice cracked at the end, rose an octave or so. He realized that must be her real voice, not the one she used every day while she pretended to be a man. He didn't really notice it before, but he wasn't paying attention then. Alek gathered himself back together, dismissed the shock, and looked at her with concern.

"Der-"

She shook her head. And she was crying, he could vaguely see the tears sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm a barking fool. Look at me! Thinking you're going to- ... you're still a pr- emperor."

Alek walked to the desk, and set Borvril down while he took a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Deryn hesitatingly followed him over. Tenderly, he reached up, wiping her face off.

"You are, and will always be, my friend-" he choose to ignoring her blush at this, wrote it off to the brush of his fingers on her cheek. "I cannot tell how much I needed you aboard the Leviathan."

Deryn shook her head slowly, her hands bunched into fists. Alek ignored that and continued. He was selfish, but felt he needed to put everything out in the open.

"After Tes- ... after the incident in New York, I treated you very ... ungentlemanly, to be short, without the manners a man of my station would be expected to, to _any lady_."

He went ahead and emphasized the last part for her benefit. Alek allowed himself a glance to her face, wanting to know her reaction to the words he had planned out so long ago. He also gave her a chance to speak. If Deryn hadn't changed, she would be close to exploding from not having a chance to speak her mind yet.

"What happened in New York, I didn't regret it. I- it feels_ like flying_, Alek." He watched as she nodded to herself. "It hurt, after, when you didn't barking say anything to me for so long."

He gazed at her, pulling the wet handkerchief away. Deryn glanced at it, saw the crest, and took the piece of fabric. She unfolded it, and turned away.

"... you're an emperor, Alek, and I ... I- I have no plans to be thrown away."

Slowly, he reached for her face, and cupped her cheek in his hand.

"I am still a gentleman."

He leaned in, catching the sent of her skin. In his peripheral vision, he saw Bovril jump off the desk and move into the dark corners of the room.

"Whatever may happen, you are still the middie that saved my life."

He felt movement as she suddenly turned to him, and began a kiss that caused Alek to rise up on his toes. Her hands wrap around his neck. Alek broke it to look at her, to hold her face.

"I will not hurt you."

Deryn nodded, and Alek gasped as she leaned into him and actually nibbled his neck.

He heard her laugh at his surprise, yet quickly leaned her back in his embrace to regain some control over their position. She sighed, relaxing

"Barking spiders, Alek..."

—

Outside, in the Imperial Garden, a passing hedge trimmer happened to look up and see his emperor in his main office with what looked like another man. He mentioned it to his sister, who said something to her family, who said something to their friends- and thus the story spread through Vienna.


	6. V

**NOTES:** excuse the misfire a few nights ago. it was terribly ... awful and was removed to be redone and expanded. as i get deeper in the plot, updates will take longer due to fact-checking and my newfound love for homestuck and hetalia crossovers.

also, please excuse my poor grasp of russian history. I am going over all my my historical changes to make sure SOME of it makes sense.

also, who is everyone's favorite grand duchess?**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>V<strong>

**VIENNA, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, OCTOBER 1921 TO FEBRUARY 1922**

It was four months of bliss. Four months of comfort and peace and smiles when they woke up to each other.

But there were problems. Oh, yes, there were problems, particularly among the elite aristocratic families with marriage daughters who felt as if they were pushed to the side.

Some of the public was upset as well, but the majority was, surprisingly, not. These were modern times, and this was Vienna!

These were the people who had been able to accept Katharina Schratt, even love her for the support she provided to the previous emperor, and as long as their Emperor and Mr. Sharp weren't the burnout that Mary Vetsera and Prince Rudolf had been, they were content with their ruler being a little light in his loafers.

Alek had been reluctant to take Deryn out in public at first, fearing more for her safety rather than the 'shame it will bring' an adamant Volger had protested for.

Barlow, the opposite to Volger's nearly constant offering of opinions, had held her tongue on the entire matter, only shaking her head when Deryn asked for advice on something, anything. The lady boffin's withdrawal had bothered Deryn for a while, yet she had moved beyond that, because she was with Alek, and there was a nearly constant high of love and lust and _everything_-

Everything was perfect.

And they had gone out into the city. (He had wanted to take her into political meetings, but she had sensed a boundary and said no. ) Deyrn was able to see every inch of Vienna, every moment steeped in history and pastries and _Alek_.

They went to operas, which Deryn quickly developed a taste for, oddly enough. There was something about the drama and elegant worlds that were formed when actors got on stage that made her lean forward in her seat, so very eager to heard and understand. It amused Alek endlessly to see her wider-eyed, hands balled into fists in the fabric of her trousers.

Four months passed like days when one was enjoying each day so much.

* * *

><p><strong>VIENNA, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY (HOFBURG PALACE) FEBRUARY 12, 1922<strong>

She had known from the beginning that four months was the maximum they were planning to stay. Deryn had ignored the deadline and wished it away with all of her, knowing that she would have to go. If she stayed, it would be a form of treason.

Yet, that mark came and went.

Two weeks past it, Deryn walked her usual morning route through the palace halls she was rapidly becoming familiar with, only to hear noises from Dr. Barlow's room. The noises were not voices, despite how much time Volger and Barlow had been spending together lately. No, they were the crinkling and airy sounds of fabrics (layers of ruffles, silks, thick wool coats) being folded and packed.

In a hurry, Deryn crossed the last few feet between her and that doorway. She knocked, as a gentleman should before entering a ladies' quarters, only to have the door pulled open a few inches by a maid.

"Excuse me? Is Doctor Barlow there?"

A tired hand shooed the maid out of the way, and Barlow's own face came into view.

"Dylan. What is it?"

At least she had the courtesy to step back a bit and allow Deryn to enter. The room was a mess, dresses and shoes and all sorts of things scattered about. There were Barlow's suitcases on the bed, open and half packed (meanwhile, the maid stepped around them and resumed folding).

"Dr. Barlow, why are you leaving?"

It was amazing what this lifestyle had done to her. Her speech was more formal, she didn't use contractions. Her gestures were all elegant, such as the sweeping movement she made to address the clothes. Deryn Sharp had grown easily into this new role as she shed the habits of her life before this.

"Dylan. Haven't you been paying attention to the conversations? You are in one of the royal houses of Europe- _surely_ you listen to the gossip?"

Hearing no answer, and seeing Deryn's blank stare, Barlow continued angrily. She expected more than this from her student.

"The Bolsheviks have issued an ultimatum to the British government. They need my ... assistance." Barlow sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"It may be that the tsar's dead. It would certainly explain their newfound confidence."

Deryn paused, mouth hanging open, all formal pretenses gone.

"_You_ are being allowed to stay."

And suddenly, Deryn had all of Barlow's anger, the rage and the sharp words turned on her. She had seen it used on others, but never on _her_.

"Do you know what you've done, putting yourself publically in this situation with_ that boy_? Out of all the things–"

Deryn's mentor paused, and shook her head.

"I cannot do anything about it now. Please, just... watch yourself. Take these."

Into Deryn's sweaty hand a bag was shoved.

"Be careful. I can't watch you anymore."

The pills. But how? Deryn must have been radiating confusion.

"I thought-"

"I lied to you. I thought it would make you _careful_ around him. I was wrong."

As Deryn struggled to understand the boffin, Barlow made a gesture to the maid. The woman hustled forward, shooing a shell-shocked Deryn out,

"Please, sir, if you wouldn't mind leaving-"

Deryn was quickly moved out of the room. She was too shocked to do much about it, both from Barlow's lies and her own ignorance of events.

Alek. She would find Alek and ask him about this. He would be able to explain it.

She turned on her heel, spinning around to face the direction of the meeting rooms. That was the most likely place he'd be today. She vaguely remembered that he had said something about a meeting around lunchtime.

Again, Deryn moved through the halls. This time, she abandoned all pretenses of not panicking and simply ran. The slap of her new fine leather boots echoed as she passed painting after panting of Alek's ancestors. They gazed down on her with some form of benevolence. She chose to ignore it.

There it was- three doors to the right from that one door with the gear handle, there was a large set of doors. They were open, so she simply slipped in. The large room was packed, up to the observer railing.- Deryn had to squeeze and maneuver her way through the men to understand what was being said over the constant low murmur of voices.

Her eyes quickly swept the large table that Alek insisted on using to hold meetings. He was at the head of the table, palefaced in his Austrian field marshal's uniform. He had said he wore it because the people were accustomed to seeing their Emperors in it, but he never wore it when meeting solely with citizens of his empire, only the foreign dignitaries. Armed with that, Deryn looked over the crowd for the person who would prompt his outfit.

There. It was the Russian. And he looked far too content for Deryn's nerves to be at ease. She struggle to remember his name, but her mind was unable to grasp it right now. Switching her focus to what was being said was the next best option.

He spoke in a booming voice with few gestures.

" – and so, you agree, sir, to accept Olga Nikolaevna as your consort, in agreement with the terms of this treaty?"


	7. VI

Sorry this chapter took so long! I didn't feel justified writing it until I had done a ton of background research. I bent history a little here and there, but hopefully not too much.

JUST PRETEND THESE RAILWAYS WORK OKAY.

**Translations/Notes:**

'Malenkaya'- little one, common nickname used for Anastasia Nikolaevna.

'Nastya'- diminutive used for Anastasia Nikolaevna.

'Alyosha'- diminutive used for Alexei Nikolaevich.

'Tanya'- diminutive used for Tatiana Nikolaevna.

'Mashka'- diminutive used for Maria Nikolaevna.

'Olya'- diminutive used for Olga Nikolaevna.

Anastasia did own a King Charles spaniel named Jimmy, who died with the family, and Olga seemed to have been a lover of cats.

The city mentioned, Troppau, is now known as Opava. It is located in the Czech Republic.

Slight Outsourced reference. Points if you spot it. (I don't own that show either, but it's awesome.)

Alek uses 'Our' in the royal form. (I.E, We are pleased.)

* * *

><p><strong>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF SARATOV, RUSSIAN REPUBLIC, JANUARY 13, 1922 (Gregorian calendar)<strong>

How does one put worst fears into words?

How does one describe nightmares?

Every royal in control of a country fears revolt, revolution. Anastasia Nikolaevna knew this, had felt it in her bones since she learned how to feel.

And then, how to shut it off.

There had been a time when her mother and father and older siblings had hidden the world from her. She knew now that they were ignorant too, all of them fools, her father especially. But he was dead, and speaking badly of the dead was heartless. Alyosha had died years ago, and if Tanya and Mashka hadn't joined her parents and her brother by now she would be very surprised. They had split the Pairs- knowing _them_, they had done it on purpose.

But Olya was here. Olya was here, and Olya was leaving this country, her beloved country, even now, and Olya knew what was going to happen to her. Anastasia loved her and hated her, all at once.

The oldest and the youngest surviving, how funny was that?

She would not cry. She would not give them that. Her guards, these young boy-soldiers, didn't deserve to see that. She hardened her heart and looked away from the door.

"Malenkaya, come help me with my dress."

How was her voice not shaking? How was she still able to call her sister over without yelling and screaming and cursing her captors, like Anastasia would have done if she dared open her mouth.

"Nastya, I cannot reach the buttons."

She had been caught in her own thoughts for too long. She murmured an apology and hurried over to her sister, reaching for the high buttons on the back of her dress. She would not see her sister for a while after she left. She was being selfish by not enjoying this time and sending her sister off with happy memories.

"They say he is kind, Nastya. That he works for peace. They say the palace is beautiful. He has offered to let me bring my cats- do you remember them- we do not have them anymore, but how would he know? If you visit-" Olga paused here, and went on. "When you visit, I will make sure to have a King Charles spaniel for you- not a fabricated mutt of course, a real one, like Jimmy-"

"They say he loves_ men_." Anastasia cut her off there with a quip as she pulled a little more on the fabric to get it to button, moving her cold fingers deftly around the layers of lace. How could they not have found a good dress for her sister? It was far too gaudy and low cut for a woman of her stature. If they wanted her to look nice, they should have chosen something else. Perhaps they had done it on purpose, but it was likely they had just been ignorant.

"... wives must deal with what they must deal with, Nastya."

Olga smiled sadly, her hands folded in front of her as she stared out the window of the train. For a moment, she looked so much like Mother that Anastasia's breath caught in her throat as her fingers froze.

The guards had started to laugh at her previous comment. Anastasia frowned, and resumed buttoning the dress. They were not allowed to whisper, for fear of them planning escape, so they spoke as if the guards were not there. Honestly, escape to where? The train was going too fast, and it was too cold outside to try anything in these thin clothes. And who would take them in, even if they did get away?

"... Olya," Anastasia started as she finished buttoning, gave the fabric a quick straightening with a few tugs, and stepped back to admire her work. "I'm sorry." She was being harsh and impish to her sister, mindless of what Olga must have been going through.

"Oh, yes! Mother's necklace! Thank you." Olga waved it off with a smile- "It's nothing-" and spun around, the dress belling as she turned, and began to dig in her small bag. Most of the jewelry had been taken, even the ones Mother and the servants had worked so hard to stitch into the clothes, but they still had some. It seemed_ they _still felt the need to present Olga nicely, like a lamb off to slaughter. Anastasia swallowed heavily at that remark, remembering the look on Tanya and Mashka's faces when they had been led away three months ago.

"Will you do the clasp for me?" Anastasia nodded, mute.

"Olya, I want you to be happy." Her fingers slipped as the thin metal clasp slipped under her fingernail as she tried to undo it. She winced and went on. "Tell Grandmother I said hello, and tell all of the family that I love them-" She was getting a little choked, but went on, quiet and mindful of the guards, who weren't looking at them just right now. "When you have a son, try and raise him like father raised us- but make sure he knows how to shop, and make sure he is nice to his tutors, and that he knows our names and _where he comes from._"

Olga laughed nervously. "Nastya, you make it sound like we will not see one another again."

Anastasia's hands had started to shake, but she just shook her head. The guards were looking at them again, and it wouldn't do to have them hear this. She spoke cheerfully, hiding the fear and uncertainty in her voice. "Oh, Olya, only God Himself knows where we will be in a year."

Olga nodded and crossed herself. "Indeed."

The officer that was overseeing them today chose that moment to arrive, stepping through the guards and speaking to neither of the sister, yet both of them, looking over the tops of their heads as if they were not there.

"You will switch trains in an hour. Anastasia Nikolaevna, you will come with me. Olga Nikolaevna, these men will escort you to your next train. You will be ready to leave in forty-five minutes."

Anastasia glanced at Olga as the officer left, and reached for her sister's hand. As the guards resumed their positions, she gave it a squeeze, and was surprised to find that Olga's hand was shaking just as hard as her own.

**TROPPAU, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, JANUARY 15, 1922 **

Alek was terribly fidgety. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, folded and unfolded his arms, and watched Volger's breaths as they puffed out and turned to frozen steam in the air.

"Relax, boy, she'll be here. God knows we'll come down on their heads if she isn't."

And by we, he meant the country, and the various Romanovs that had gathered here today. After word had spread that Alek had accepted the ambassador's proposal, requests had come pouring in from all over Europe to visit Alek's court- invitations that certainly wouldn't have arrived otherwise. Various countries began to recognize his government in more than name, and Germany had warmed up a little bit in their international relations.

Alek turned to Volger, fussing with the heavy winter clothing he wore. "Yes, but-"

"But nothing, your Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty."

Alek had to laugh at that, and noticed the small smile on Volger's face. The man knew just when to tease him, how to balance out his moods when he worried. He needed that more than ever today. He sighed and shook his head, and then spoke softly, so that the circle of bodyguards waiting with him at the station wouldn't hear.

"... Count, do you think I did the right thing?"

Volger paused, and then nodded, adjusting as he held his arms behind his back. "Of course. She's one of the most- if not the most- suitable ladies, and any sons she bears will be eligible for Russian succession once the mess there is straightened out."

Alek nodded and, not for the first time that day, thought of Deryn. He thought of his hands, and how they had held her own when he had said goodbye a month ago.

_"Nothing will change between us, I promise. I love you."_

He remembered how she had looked away.

Alek owed it to the Grand Duchess not to be thinking about Deryn right now, just as he had owed it to Deryn not to think about her while they had been together.

"Count," he started. "- tell me what you know about her again."

"Very well," the man replied. "Her former tutor has said how smart and driven she is. She seems independent-" Alek was grateful for that, and nodded at Volger to continue. "She likes to read, and we've been warned she has a bit of a temper."

_Like Deryn, _Alek thought, but internally shook his head. _No, no one will ever be like Deryn._

"Really, your Majesty, you'll meet her soon enough and I won't have to answer your questions."

His words seemed harsh, but Volger shot him a sympathetic look.

It wasn't like this for his parents, Alek knew. They had fallen in love, gotten to know each other before they had married. He had read a book that had said that love marriages were like hot soup that cooled overtime, while arranged marriages were like cold soup that warmed up. His parents had gotten along well enough, though, hadn't they?

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of a train slowing down and the hiss of stream. They were comforting sounds, especially as his encourage had come closer and closer to the Darwinian countries and had heard less and less of the hisses and clanks he was accustomed to.

"It is time," Volger said, and Alek nodded and took a step back on the platform.

The rest of the assembled people also took several steps back. Alek thought he heard some mumbles from the assorted royalty about 'Clankers and their noises', but he chose to ignore them. His Russian wasn't that good anyway, he could have been mistaken.

The train roared into the station, whipping up a warm wind that was quite welcome. Alek sighed in relief from the cold, and only then noticed he had been holding his breath.

The door opened, and as the guards exited Alek caught the first ever glance he had of his wife-to-be that wasn't from photographs. She was pretty- no, elegant was a better word, in a dress that really wasn't flattering or quite fitting for the weather. The Grand Duchess was carrying her own bags, and none of the men with her offered her their hand to help her step down.

It seemed as if everyone there but the Russian guards were holding their breath, waiting for someone to make a move and break the silence.

Alek frowned, and moved forward, striding quickly to her. She looked up, shocked, as he held out his arm for her to take and leaned forward to take her bag from her hand.

Alek only hesitated slightly before speaking, loudly, in carefully practiced Russian.

"Welcome, Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, to Austria-Hungary. It is Our pleasure to have you here."

And then, much more quietly. "Please, may I help you with those?"

The cover of most of the papers in the next few weeks were that of Emperor Aleksandar helping Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna off the train. The photo was credited to one Eddie Malone.


	8. VII

**VIENNA, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, FEBRUARY 3, 1922 **

Bovril liked this room. Bovril liked how the carpet went stritch-stritch when Bovril crawled over it. Bovril also liked getting fur all over the carpet.

Something Bovril didn't like was how _Mr_. Sharp looked right now. It wanted to comfort _Mr_. Sharp but _Mr. _Sharp was busy talking to the man with the squishy-green repeat thing.

Bovril was a good loris, though, and Bovril knew when it was a good time to curl up in a corner and sleep, especially when _Mr. _Sharp was just a little bit tipsy on the _good _scotch.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, I don't want to give an interview!"<p>

"You don't have to, la- look, Mr. Sharp-" an exasperated huff from 'we've-practically-known-each-other-for-years-call-me-Eddie' Malone, and Deryn just had to throw herself into the nearest chair in 'Eddie's' hotel room. At least the man had the dignity to rent a room in the good part of town. "- you just looked damn lonely in that bar, so I bought you a drink- and why were you even in a hole like that?"

Deryn huffed, slouching lower in the chair. "No-fucking-one was supposed to know who I was, you twit."

"Well, I did," Malone continued bravely. "So, where was I- I bought you a drink, which is, by the way, illegal for an upstanding American like me-" Another huff from Deryn, though this one contained more of a hiss. "- and I must admit, Mr. Sharp, that I was a bit shocked to see your face in an American tabloid with the label 'Austrian Emperor a Little Too Light For His Loafers', end quote." He embellished himself with a little gesture, and his frog croaked.

"You were likely damn ashamed you hadn't written it." Deryn let out a harsh laugh, and crossed her legs.

"Well, yes," Malone admitted, crossing the room to find his own, personal doctor-prescribed supply of gin. "And then I wondered why a good Scottish?- girl such as yourself was, apparently, the homosexual partner of a man. Parts just don't match up, really." He shrugged. "So, from the beginning. I see the article, I decide the news over here's getting good, and I get where the good's at. I stumbled around this forsaken place for two months without seeing hide nor hair of the chance of an interview or any good news, and out of nowhere, bam, lookat what happened with our friend Alek."

Deryn sat back up suddenly. "Don't call him that."

"All right, all right." Malone waved his hands around, trying to dismiss her like the angry bee she was. "So I haul myself over to Trow-pow, or whatever it's called, and I snap one picture, and all of a sudden I get this letter thing from this Count Volger or something, saying I have been banned from the palace and palace ground and pretty much every event where His and Her Majesty are present-" He caught how Deryn wilted at that, and her feeble protest.

"Not yet. She's not- she's not his yet."

He nodded, willing to indulge her. "Well, anyway, long story short, my visa's been looked over and my press pass was confiscated, so hey, what else can a good boy like me do but hang around here, in Vienna's famous red-light district until they kick me out?"

Deryn didn't respond, and drew her legs up into the chair.

"Why do you care about him so much anyway? He's going to get hitched, it looks like he's left you in the dust." He busied himself with pouring a good drink. "I saw the way he looked at you, before this, and all those photos those two-bit photographers took, even after it was announce he was going to marry Miss Romanov. So that's not true, he's not abandoning you like a scumbag."

Deryn cleared her throat. "Eddie, I need to leave the country, and you are the only one I can ask for help."

He stared at her, stopping in his mixing for a moment.

She just shook her head. "Alek- he won't let me go. Barking spiders, he- he loves me, or thinks he does, and I don't even know why I'm telling you, you're a reporter-"

"Ex-reporter, I don't have my papers."

"Fine, ex-reporter. But the point is, you_ know _people." Eddie was curious as to what she meant, and nodded for her to continue.

"-and I won't force someone to share Alek with me, she deserves better." Deryn shook her head. "He deserves to fall in love with her. I've seen her, she's cultured and polite and fills out a dress nicely. And he can love her and not be-" Her hand curled over her stomach just slightly, unconsciously.

"What?" Eddie couldn't help it, questions sprang from his lips like water from fountains.

"I love him. I have to let him have his life. I'm baggage, extra things on an airship that need to be thrown away so it can fly properly!"

"Your metaphors are _astounding, _Dr. Sharp- I'm going to call you that now, it's nice and safe and gender-neutral, a nomenclature Swiss, if I might."

Deryn sighed and wilted in her chair. "I'm not trying to be funny, Malone, I need help and you're just the man to help me. As I was saying, you know people that could- could get me out of here. I would- I'd need to be going to somewhere Alek wouldn't look like- like Germany, maybe." It was a split second decision, and already her plan began to form. "Germany, yes."

"You are completely insane, and I am _sure_ I could find someone to certify you."

Sensing a challenge, Deryn slid her spine back up the chair. "I am deadly serious, Mr. Malone, and if you can't man up and _help me_ I will find someone who can."

Eddie rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

"Y'know, are you really sure about... Germany? It's not bad there, persay, but, uh, they do have reparations payments that are doing a number on the economy, if you'll excuse my pun."

"No. It has to be Germany. My Clanker's okay, and I'm sure I could find work. I'll fit in, they have a bunch of refugees coming back from the war."

Eddie shook her head. "No. No, this is silly. I am not taking you to goddamn Germany- excuse my language, miss-" a bark of laughter from Deryn. "I- no. They won't like me there- you know, they're saying Jews started the war. I thought that was why I couldn't get an interview with the Emperor, I thought he believed that nonsense."

Deryn looked curious, but Malone didn't offer an explanation beyond that. He took a nice, long drink from his glass and his frog tried to get its tongue in too.

"Why d'you wanna go, anyway?" Deryn pretended not to notice his accent slipping back in. "Is it because you don't want to share?"

"Yes you twit- that was the whole point of my conversation- blimey, weren't you listening?" Deryn was angry, but it faded a little. "Besides, he won't need me around. I'll just make everything complicated."

Eddie rolled his eyes and sat loudly in the chair across from her, the frog almost falling off.

"Like you haven't already? It sells papers, but your personal life must be hell."

A pause, and Deryn looked away, rather ashamed.

"I'm pregnant."


	9. VIII

I live. Sorry for the length. I feel like I needed to post what I had rather than wait.

* * *

><p><strong>VIENNA, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, FEBRUARY 17, 1922 <strong>

Volger was frantic, and that was saying something. Normally, he didn't display that sort of behavior that one would associate with being panicked or bothered. Even now, he didn't outwardly display his feelings; they would serve no purpose.

He was frantic for anther reasons entirely- Alek was nowhere to be found.

Of course, he was the only one who 'knew' about him 'missing'. It was a feeling, blooming in his chest. The Boy-Emperor was not in any of his usual places. The library was empty, and so were his private rooms. The wildcount could not ask any of the servants if they had seen him- he could not even outwardly display any outward signs of discontent.

Alek's willful behavior had not reared its ugly head for quite some time. And generally, even when it did, things ended for the better. He supposed it gave more credit to showing that Alek was not a puppet of any sort. He toed the line being disagreeing his ministers enough to give credit to his strength but respected them enough to keep appearances. Volger gladly allowed it, but now, when it was directed at him (or so he assumed) he found he disliked it.

Sighing, he took a seat on one of the various chairs that lined the hallway. There was a nice enough view of the gardens. Volger could not ignore the slight complaint his knees made as he sat. He was getting older, he could not deny it. He supposed he should worry about what would happen to Alek when he died, hopefully many, many years in the future. Yet, somehow, despite himself, he felt an odd sort of confidence in Alek and the potential in his reign. As of late, much had been falling in place. Even Sharp had stepped back a little bit- which managed to disconcert him rather than delight.

Volger frowned suddenly. That _should_ have pleased him, everything considered. He had found himself with more respect for her as of late. Having gotten what he wanted, though, he found himself almost getting... worried. When was the last time he had seen her go through the halls, laughing, lightening up the place as she passed for a male and flying in the face of decorum. He could (would) not admit it to himself, but perhaps there was a flicker of something close to paternal affection for the girl.

No matter. Back to the task at hand- finding Alek for the meeting he had in half an hour.


End file.
